Alfred in Cosplayland
by hetaliamongul123
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Alfred Frederick Jones is certainly not a pervert, degenerate, molester or anything else that people call him behind his back. So when he has that weird dream, it was definitely not because of overindulgence in male hormones. Because he's a hero, not a teenage sleazebag, and nothing will ever convince him otherwise.


**Author's Notes:**

1\. This story is rated **T**.

No explicit details will occur, but suggestive themes are present in this story.

2\. This is _NOT_ a harem story.

Nobody actually loves the Main Character; they're just toying with him out of either lust or boredom. Although some characters (*ahem*, Alfred, *ahem*) may think otherwise.

3\. This is a _parody_.

Character bashing may occur. People may die cruelly and unjustly of completely random reasons. You have been warned.

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杨

吖

李

productions

 _(not-so) proudly  
_ _presents:_

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 ** _::Alfred in Cosplayland::_**

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 **Chapter One**

 _alfred's adventures in wonderland (that we really don't need to know. really.)_

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Contrary to popular belief, Alfred Frederick Jones is certainly _not_ a pervert, degenerate, molester or anything else that people call him behind his back. It's a troublesome rumor, really, because now no girl will ever trust themselves with him in an empty room, but he doesn't mind that much. It's not like he has any sick _interest_ in the female anatomy, anyway. When his eyes trace the perfectly rounded curve of Elizaveta's bosom it's just—

Okay, so maybe he does. So what? He's a growing boy, and puberty had been bound to hit sooner or later. He's not the only one that ogles the girls, either (but Francis doesn't really count because his older brother stares sleazily at just about everyone and their grandma). And it's definitely not that he ever tries to _touch_ any of the female population the wrong way; that one time with Mei and the skirt flipping had been nothing but a coincidence. Really. Even if Yao, who knows everything, didn't believe his stammered-out justification and then proceeded to beat him up with 'big-brother-overprotective-mode'.

So when he has that weird dream that's awfully similar to one of Kiku's perverted cartoons (the Japanese country calls them ' _ecchi anime_ ', but like, _whatever_ ), it most certainly was not a male fantasy caused by an overindulgence in testosterone. No, it was not. Because he's a hero, not a teenage sleazebag, and nothing will ever convince him otherwise.

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He's not supposed to be sleeping in some isolated island off the Pennsylvanian coast. Or sleeping anywhere _close_ to an isolated island off the Pennyslvanian coast- or sleeping at all, as a matter of fact. Instead, he's supposed to be attending the speech of some uppity senator up in Maine—but can hardly be bothered to with the hot summer heat and general laziness in the air.

So he's dozing under the shade of a grove of trees when a flash of white captures his attention. It's not the stark, artificial white of man-made plastics; more of a fuzzy yellow-ish shade, like the fur of a polar bear. He squints in the sunlight, wondering what kind of lost Arctic animal is it ( _and what the hell is it doing in the middle of summer_ )—and nearly passes out from blood loss.

There's a girl in a bunny suit. As in, skimpy white leotard that gives him a _great_ view of her mountains. She's wearing a rabbit headband, with a long blonde pigtail hanging off each one, and giant rabbit paws like the Mickey Mouse hands they sell in Disneyland. The image would have been near perfect at that point, if not for the giant fuzzy eyebrows that gather on her forehead that are definitely _not_ humanely possible. In fact, they remind him eerily of Iggy's eyebrows. Alfred shudders, terrified at the sudden thought, and decides not to flirt with Bunny-Girl if all it'll do is remind him of his brother.

Big mistake. Apparently, Bunny-Girl doesn't take well to being ignored. She bounds over to him, her face indignant, and scowls, hands on her hips. Alfred nearly drools, before he remembers the eyebrows again. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm afraid you are supposed to be aroused by my appearance and follow me to Cosplayland, not ignore me. Please, be a gentleman and follow the effing plot for once, will you not?"

"Excuse me?" Alfred asks, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. _Eyebrows_. He shudders again at the thought, and can't help but glance at Bunny-Girl's forehead again. Yep. Big, fuzzy, _eyebrows_ -

"I believe I said that you are supposed to be sexually aroused to my appearance and follow me to Cosplayland. So get up and starting chasing me, you lazy bum!" Bunny-Girl shouts, angry. Alfred is terrified at the very thought of having a boner to somebody that remotely resembles Iggy, nonetheless have his eyebrows, and so refuses, shaking his head wildly. He tries backing away, before realizing that he has been cornered onto the bark of a tree.

"Very well, then," Bunny-Girl says, and turns to leave. Alfred lets out a sigh he didn't know he was holding. "Like I would actually let you leave! If you're not following me, I'm kidnapping you myself!" She faces him, leering at him like a cat would eye their prey, before scooping him up with strong muscles hidden within deceptively thin arms and holding him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Alfred struggles, trying to get away from this psychopath woman, but only finds that her grip is iron, and resistance is futile. "Let me go, psycho-woman! Let me fucking go!"

"As if I would," Bunny-Girl says, gallivanting around the empty coastline like there's nothing wrong with the world. Alfred curses inwardly, wondering _why_ on Earth he had chosen an _isolated_ island to have his afternoon nap on, of all things, and then he asks himself why he's letting himself to be kidnapped by a woman who's mind is clearly screwed up. He's supposed to be the hero, dammit, not the damsel in distress! (And no thank you, he does _not_ want a handsome prince to rescue him!)

She carries him for a while as he attempts to resist her hold, until she suddenly stops. Alfred glances around, terrified- was he really going to die here? Was Bunny-Girl going to defile his corpse before she hung his naked body on a tree branch for the world to see?

Rather than pulling out a giant ax out of nowhere, as he had expected, Bunny-Girl is staring down a giant hole. It's hidden behind a river bank, and if he had not been looking at it from the the angle he was in right now, he might have never spotted it. _I can't see the bottom. I CAN'T SEE THE BOTTOM. Jesus,_ _does it go down to China, or something? What is she doing? Don't tell me she's planning to the drop me in there?_

As if she had heard his thoughts, Bunny-Girl smirks at him. "Have fun, you prudent brat!" she says, sneering, before she flings him into the hole. "I hope you die a virgin!" Her smiling face is the last thing he sees before he is engulfed by the darkness.

Alfred screams.

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 _I think if this was a hole to China I'd be there already_ , Alfred grumbles, before thinking longingly of the above world. Was there anybody worried about his well-being? Surely there was _someone_ who had become aware of his disappearance—after all, he was the hero, beloved by all. (There wasn't).

The tunnel becomes progressively brighter the longer he falls, and gradually he notices that all around him are cupboards filled with tempting pictures of women in a variety of poses. He tries to grab a few for closer examination, but to his great disappointment, most of them fly away from his hands because of the speed he is currently traveling downwards at. The only one he _is_ able to grab, however, is of a flat-chested model without enough curves for him to interested, and he disposes of that the moment he realizes what it is.

He is still falling. Out of the boredom, and perhaps also due to that sick, _sick_ desire that he keeps suppressed to the back of his head, he starts to think about Bunny-Girl. If she hadn't had tho- those—those _accursed_ eyebrows, he definitely _would_ have been _extremely_ aroused by her appearance, and probably _would_ follow her to the end of the Earth for good measure. She had quite a nice rack, didn't she—

 _(bad thoughts, bad thoughts, bad thoughts, bad thoughts, no, stop thinking about it—)_

He doesn't realize that he has reached the light at the end of the tunnel (no pun intended) until he's literally standing on the floor, disoriented from his sudden landing. It doesn't hurt as much as he thinks it would have, but there is still a faint stinging sensation on his feet.

"Woah," he whispers, mostly to himself. He's inside a large, grand hall, the type found inside the houses of rich people with nothing better to do with their money. In front of him, stretching out as far as his eye can see, are rows of expensive-looking doors, all adorned with a large jewel engraved into the wood ( _holy cow_ , was that a _diamond_ he just saw?!). Ornate lamps embellished with metal and crystals hang from the ceiling in front of each door, making the place almost too bright to look at.

He attempts to open the door closest to him, of ivory-white wood and a large black gemstone. Of course, it is locked, and his further tries yield no success, either. Just when Alfred starts to panic, wondering how he would _ever_ return to the human world again, he bumps into a conveniently placed wooden table with an all-too-well-opportune key on it.

"Um... what the hell am I supposed to do with this?" he asks to no-one in particular, eyeing the key and then his starting point, which is a few hundred doors away. "I mean, _come on_! Don't tell me I have to start over my attempts to open a stupid door?"

As if in response to his question, when he looks at the table again, there is white note on it. He reads: ' _Yes you do, stupid~_ ❤ _But t_ _ry this door first, please_ ➚'

" _What_?" Alfred says, scrunching his eyebrows at the note—it called him stupid!—, and then looks to the door the arrow points to. It is made of extremely dark wood, almost black, and a green emerald shines luminously on its surface. He glances at the key—it is rustic silver and well-worn. Engraved on the back are three tiny words that he can barely make out: **_d_** _ **ormi mecum, leno**_ ^. Whatever that means. His Spanish wasn't very good. Was it Spanish? It sounded more like Italian, didn't it?

"Um... am I supposed to open the door with the key?" he asks to the empty space, feeling rather stupid. There is no answer. "Uh, well, I guess I _will_..."

He fumbles with the key, trying not to drop it, and then slowly inserts it inside the keyhole. It fits perfectly in, and he holds in a sigh of relief. So he _could_ get out of this seriously messed up place. However, the key doesn't turn, no matter how hard he attempts to rotate it. He attempts to pull it out, but it will not budge—it is stuck.

"Damn _it_!" Alfred swears, holding in some of his more vulgar language. "Why won't this _stupid_ thing just _open_?"

"That's because you looked at the note in the wrong angle when you read it," says a sultry voice behind him. "You were supposed to read it towards the angle of the table, _stu_ — _pid_ ~ ❤."

Alfred turns around, expecting the worse—

—and for the second time in a day(?), he almost faints of blood loss.

 **End of Chapter One**

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 _^dormi mecum, leno_ \- sleep with me, pimp. Basically an invitation to sex.

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